Chapter 13: “There Won't Be A Next Tme”

“No?” 

No what?

I furrowed my brows, irritation prickling under my skin. What the hell—just picking up scraps of words and now spewing nonsense I can’t even understand?

My lips ached.

Kissing it used to be familiar ground—always under my lead, always pleasant. Since I owned it, every movement, every kiss, every word, and even the desires that hadn’t yet come to pass—were all tightly within my control.

But now the reins had slipped from my hands. I couldn’t stop its wildness. It hurt me. It made me miserable.

It was created for one purpose only: to crawl obediently at my feet, a loyal dog bowing its head in submission. Who could have imagined that the dog I hand-fed would grow arrogant on its spoils and start biting its master?

I liked watching this dog wag its tail, beg for mercy, obey my every command. Give it the smallest taste of sweetness, and it would swear eternal loyalty. I enjoyed that kind of relationship, so of course I tolerated its occasional disobedience.

But tolerance has limits.

This dog will never be allowed to walk all over me.

Like now.

Something shoved into my mouth, unpredictable, uncontrolled—you never knew what it might do next, how strong, how reckless, how disgusting the moment could become.

Being forced into a kiss was unbearable—if being kissed by a doll could even be called a kiss at all.

Its strange behavior had been happening more often lately. I noticed, but I let it slide. Puppies grow into big dogs, and owners tend to be patient with a little immaturity. I was no different.

But my kindness hadn’t reformed it. Looks like it’s time for a lesson.

You correct a dog’s bad habits when it’s young.

Liang Zhiting’s perfume had been smashed. Tomorrow, I had to watch his wedding with my own eyes. Frustration churned hot in my chest. Clenching my fists, I kicked off my shoes. Barefoot, I stepped on broken glass. Tiny shards pierced my soles, blood spilling out.

Rage drowned out the pain. I needed somewhere to vent it.

The doll had no senses, no pain. If it wanted to kiss, then let it kiss.

Its lips and tongue bit down hard. I seized control, clamped its head in both hands, and leaned in.

From the balcony to the bedroom, blood streaked the floor.

We collapsed onto the bed. The sheets stained red. After all the struggle, only I was left panting.

I didn’t pull away. Kissing it, I slipped a hand under the pillow and found the scissors I always kept there.

I often had nightmares when I slept poorly—visions of flesh-red curtains closing around me, pus rotting off my body, voices cursing endlessly; sometimes a giant centipede snapping its venomous jaws, biting me awake. Later, I heard somewhere that keeping scissors under the pillow could ward off evil spirits. The habit stayed with me into adulthood.

I drove the blades into the doll’s chest, leaving a fingernail-sized cut across its perfect muscle. Its body froze under the blow. I shoved it back, yanked the scissors out, and kicked it hard in the chest.

It stumbled and rolled under the bed, ending up on its knees.

It was only an object—no blood, no breath, no life. The scissors had left no bleeding wound, just a black slit across its chest and the bloody footprint from my kick.

It lifted its head, looking at me with a puzzled, innocent expression.

I tossed the scissors to the floor. They clattered to a stop against its leg.

“If you ever try that again, I’ll tear you apart.”

My lips still burned, tingling from the rough kiss.

It seemed to sense my anger. Crawling slowly on its knees, it came to me, kneeling at my feet.

Drops of blood slid from my sole onto the floor.

It lowered its head, licking them up one by one, like the obedient dog I knew—healing by licking its wounds.

Its tongue tickled. I kicked its face away.

Grabbing tissues, I wiped the blood and picked shards of glass from my flesh.

“Baby…”

“Baby.”

It called to me again and again, but I ignored it.

It slowly raised a hand, pressing its fingers to mine, entwining our hands. Its cheek rubbed against my palm as it whispered, “S-sorry…”

“Sorry, baby.”

Showing weakness like that, strangely, lifted my mood.

I touched the small wound I had carved into its chest, a flicker of regret surfacing—for scarring such a perfect creation in a fit of rage.

“Do you know you were wrong?”

Its mouth half-open, it stammered, “I… I was wrong,” nodding as it spoke.

“Will you do it again?”

“No…” Another apology. “Sorry.”

It rested its chin on my knee. I stroked the back of its head, combing my fingers through its hair.

“I know. I forgive you. But…” My fingers curled around its neck, squeezing gently as I murmured, “There won't be a next time, husband.”

—

The next day, I chose my best clothes and dressed carefully before heading to the five-star hotel.

The cut on my foot still throbbed. Each step felt like an ugly mermaid walking on knives, but I bore it, silently, to witness my beloved’s wedding with his princess.

I entered the building I’d never set foot in before and found the floor reserved entirely for the ceremony. The hallway was filled with flowers. The elevator doors opened, and there they were: giant portraits of the bride and groom.

I stared at Liang Zhiting’s face before moving forward.

Down the flower-lined path, the carpet muted my footsteps. Guests in elegant clothes passed by, radiant and refined. No matter how carefully I dressed, I was nothing but a golden rim on a trash can. Even the waiters looked more polished than me.

Dress a rat in silk—it’s still a rat.

At the end of the hall stood Liang Zhiting and Fu Qian, greeting guests.

Fu Qian, in her shimmering mermaid gown, was ethereal. Liang Zhiting at her side was no less striking. Together, they were perfect, dazzling.

“Nan Li, you’re here.”

I approached. Liang Zhiting smiled at me. I forced a smile worse than tears and said obediently, “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Thank you. I saved you a seat over there.” He pointed. I nodded and went into the banquet hall.

I didn’t smell the familiar fragrance on him today. Perhaps because he had given me that bottle of perfume yesterday, and wore something else now.

At my table, the other guests glanced at me. I lowered my head, wishing myself invisible. I didn’t know them; none spoke to me. I sat alone, counting flowers in the carpet to pass the time.

Eventually, I looked up to ease the ache in my neck, and my gaze drifted toward the entrance.

Liang Zhiting and Fu Qian were gone.

My chest tightened. The noise of the hall pressed against my skull. I rose, searching for air.

The floor was vast, full of rooms. I wandered away from the crowd, slipping into quiet corners until I was half-lost.

I didn’t mind. Solitude suited me.

I thought I would simply hide here until the wedding ended.

Leaning against the wall, I took a deep breath. Still, my chest was heavy. A balcony caught my eye, and I walked toward it.

Near the door, a faint voice drifted out—a woman’s: “Why are you so nervous?”

The balcony was already occupied.

I stopped. Just as I was about to retreat, a voice reached my ear, unguarded.

“I told you not to come.” Liang Zhiting.

For some reason, he sounded impatient. Unlike himself.

Were they arguing?

I froze, listening.

“You’re kidding, right? I’m Fu Qian’s friend. When a friend marries, why wouldn’t I come?”

The woman’s tone was careless. Liang Zhiting lowered his voice: “Don’t pretend. You know what I mean. What did you say earlier, in front of Fu Qian? You practically wanted her to notice, didn’t you?”

“So what if she did?” The woman’s tone suddenly turned sharp, almost accusatory. “You’ve got the guts to do it but not to own up to it?”

“Today is me and Fu Qian's wedding!”

“I know. That’s why I came. Liang Zhiting, if you really have the guts then don’t—ugh!” Her voice broke into muffled groans.

Then silence.

“You’re always like this…”

“Enough. Don’t throw a tantrum.”

A long pause. Then the woman: “I understand.” Resigned.

“I’ll leave now. You come later.”

“Mm.”

My blood went cold.

The balcony door shut. Footsteps approached.

“Nan Li?”

I froze. Turned.

Liang Zhiting closed the door behind him, glanced outside, then walked to me. “What are you doing here?”

“I… came out for some air.”

“The wedding is about to start. Don’t wander again. How long have you been here?”

“I…” I hesitated. “Just got here. Wanted air. Didn’t expect to run into you.”

“What air? It’s warmer inside. Come on.” He didn’t give me a choice, seizing my wrist, dragging me back toward the hall.

I followed, silent, but glanced back. Behind the glass, a red dress fluttered in the wind.

“Nan Li.”

I looked at him. He smiled at me, teasing: “What are you staring at?”

“Nothing.” My lie was smooth. “The decorations. I’ve never seen anything like it, so I kept looking.”

He laughed. “That’s nothing. There’s even better. I’ll show you sometime. You’ll have plenty of chances to come.”

Sometime. Again.

I thought he invited me here to help me get over him. Clearly not. He knew. He knew my hidden feelings, and still treated me with such gentle kindness.

Friends, then. That’s what he meant. Friends. At least as friends, I could still see him.

“…Okay.” I nodded.

My gaze slipped to the hand gripping my wrist.

Something new gleamed there.

On his ring finger—usually bare—shone a delicate silver band.